


Nicest Thing

by cyanideSweetheart



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bro gets a day job, But it gets better I promise, CPS comes around and that goes over like a fart in church, M/M, Sadstuck with happy ending, This is really fucking sad I'm going to warn you right now, holy schmole who would've seen that coming, the chapters will be short I think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 01:59:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanideSweetheart/pseuds/cyanideSweetheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say he needs to get a day job, but that's bullshit, right? He makes more than enough money. Billions of dollars go into his bank account each year, and really, it doesn't go anywhere besides the groceries and the rent. Maybe whatever Dave wants, too.</p><p>Point is, he's rich. He's rich, and he can take care of Dave just fine.</p><p>They disagree.</p><p>*DISCONTINUED, will not be picked up again.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Letter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sicknastybiznatch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sicknastybiznatch/gifts).



> This may or may not be really long! Either way get ready for a rollercoaster of emotions. Have fun, dear readers!
> 
> For sicknastybiznatch, because she is probably one of my best online friends and she helped me come up with this at about one in the morning.  
> Not sure if the universe is telling me to pull more all-nighters or not.

They could have at least come to tell him this bullshit in person. Said bullshit says in very polite, carefully worded, and long-fucking-winded words that if "David E. Strider" is going to continue being in his care, he'd better get a fucking job. 

This is obviously bullshit. Right? It's not like he doesn't take care of Dave. Granted, he isn't as chummy with the kid as he wishes he was, for reasons he really doesn't want to think about right now, but fuck, it wasn't like he was _neglectful._ Or abusive, for that matter. Far from it. 

And he already has a job! One that pays quite well, thanks very fucking much. Billions of dollars, in fact. DJ-ing pays well, too, on the nights that he can snag a gig at one of the clubs nearby. So it's not like it's a matter of money or anything. The letter states that getting a job will "show responsibility" or some shit that barely applies, because he'd been taking care of his little brother for sixteen and a half years now, and he's been pretty damn responsible so far.

Point is, he's rich. He's rich, and he can take care of Dave just fine.

They disagree.

Bro grimaces and folds the letter up, throwing it on his dresser and deciding to ignore it for now. It had detailed a deadline for him, and it was a generous deadline, so he could afford to let it take the back burner for now. A job would be easy to find, with his specialties. The problem was if he could find one in their area, and wow look he really doesn't want to think about this right now either.

He goes to play some videogames and tries not to imagine how it's going to go over with Dave when he tells him he isn't going to be around as much anymore.


	2. What the Fuck?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave finds something unexpected when he gets home.

Something's wrong. He knows this to be a fact from the second he walks in the door and sees...... a _thing_ on the living room table. A thing? Dave steps closer and examines the metallic object and comes to the conclusion that the thing is, in fact, a robot. It kind of looks like his bro, too, which was pretty weird. Same spiky hair and everything- that is, assuming that's what Bro's hair looks like without his cap. Dave wouldn't know.

Again he examines the robot. Same shades (although these appear to be fused to its face), same height if it was standing up, even the same basic facial shape. Hella weird. It doesn't seem like it's turned on, either, red eyes glassy and dull and posture stiff but slumped.

Of course he pokes it.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't turn on.

Slightly disappointed, Dave snorts and turns away, shuffling into the kitchen to fish some leftover takeout from the fridge. By some miracle the swords don't fall out when he opens the fridge, and he carefully inches the Chinese food's box from its niche in between the blades, absconding back into the living room. The fridge swings closed by itself like it usually does, and Dave plops down onto the couch, opening the box and popping one of the crab rangoons in it into his mouth. His eyes flicker from the Brobot, as he's dubbed it (because it really does look eerily like Bro), to the door leading to the roof, to the hallway that had their rooms. He's tempted to call for Bro, because usually he can at least find him on the couch or in the kitchen or flinging a smuppet in Dave's face when he gets home, because he's usually there, but it's quiet. 

It takes him a second to realize it's just him in the apartment.

Well.

Wait- there's a note, held in the Brobot's hand, and slightly crumpled. Dave removes it, glancing to see if there's a reaction. There isn't. He reads the note, which says in dark orange ink:

_Went to go deliver some shit for a friend. I'll have a gig later, so I'll be back late. Don't stay up._

_Hal is for you, by the way. The on switch is at the nape of his neck, right under where his hair starts. Try booting him up._

Oh. Huh.

A gift? Those are rare from Bro. And apparently he's built it-Brobot- Hal himself? Dave doesn't remember seeing Bro work on this, but then again, he never goes in his room. Damn, he must've been working on this thing for weeks, and Dave didn't even notice. Sneaky motherfucker. 

Might as well turn it on, right? After all, it is a present, and Bro did say that he should boot it- him- up. So he does, reaching around to fumble with and find the little button that turned the robot on. It jolts slightly, making Dave narrow his eyes and snatch his hand back, wondering if this was a trick or a trap. The bot sits up fully, stretches as if it's working out a kink in a muscle, and holy shit it even _moves_ like Bro, that is fucking _creepy._

Creepy and cool.

Dave reaches out, but he freezes when the Brobot turns his head to look at him. Its eyes aren't dull anymore; they're lit and glowing, like a car's taillights, and his breath catches in his throat as he blinks, paralyzed like a deer in the headlights. 

Then, a voice, tinny and metallic but unmistakably _Bro_ , says with the mouth the machine doesn't have, "Hello, Dave."

"........What the fuck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I make any typos, please, for the love of god, _tell_ me so I can fix them. I loathe having incorrect spelling.


	3. Customer Service Sucks Ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bro begins to experience the trials and tribulations of the working man.

He can’t stop worrying his bottom lip.

It’s a very strange deviation from his usual assuredly stoic and uncaring mask, and as he drives to what he deems true hell, Bro heaves a heavy sigh and concentrates on not drawing blood.

It would be just his luck to have to show up to the first day on the job with a bloodied lip.

He parks his truck and leans his head back against the seat, reluctantly removing his cap and running a hand through his hair. Has Dave gotten home yet? His eyes flick to the clock. Three fifty-seven. Dave always got home right at three forty-two, on the dot.

Bro wonders if he’s turned Hal on yet. Jesus tits, Hal took motherfucking weeks to make – late nights hunched over the damn thing, string after string of coding, and not to mention melding its body together in the first place. Really though, he could have finished in half the time if he had rushed, but Bro would have sooner cut off his hand with a rusty chainsaw than give Dave something less than perfect. And perfect he had achieved.

The dull glow of the digital clock reminds Bro gently that he has shit to deal with. With a sigh, he gets out of his truck and slams the door closed. The collar of his shirt is smoothed down and folded into civil obedience - no easy feat - but they’d drawn the line at the popped collar, and he'd been unable to protest it. He snorts at the memory. Hell, they’d wanted to take his shades, too, but a quick flash of his irises and a claim to a medical condition shot that one down. He counts that as a very personal victory against the damn place.

He clocks in immediately and takes his place in his goddamn cubicle. Wait a second. What the fuck? No one is gonna fucking see him, why the hell are they so persnickety about his attire? Dickwads. He begrudgingly puts on his headset and waits to be hooked up to a call. But it’s Friday night, and no one is really calling in. He sighs heavily.

Fuck. His first night is already promising to be a slow one. Bro settles in and tries oh so hard not to think of Dave.

And fails. Miserably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Christ, I'm sorry if this looks dumb, I have no idea how to work AO3 yet. Please bear with me, I'll get it sooner or later. 
> 
> -sicknasty <3


	4. Shitty Movie Night, Hell Yeah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a talk with Hal, Dave warms up a little to the AI and it's a typical night at the Striders'- just without Bro.

"Truth be told, I did expect a bit more of a warm welcome. Rude, Dave." The robot's voice is laced with dry amusement, but Dave is really in no state to respond; he's still reeling from the fact that apparently Bro made a robot duplicate of himself and gave it to Dave. As a gift. 

Why? 

A thousand possibilities and answers to this question run through his mind in a few seconds, and few of them are good. The question he settles on yet again after he pulls his shit together is: "No, seriously. What the _fuck?_ " 

It- he- sighs in what seems to be mild irritation. He can't really tell. "The fuck is that I'm a robot. That seems simple enough for you to wrap your mind around, right?" Wow. Way to be a dick. Dave keeps his mouth shut and nods slightly, and the Brobot nods in return. "Great. Now we've got that covered, my name is Hal. Technically I'm based off of your brother's personality- and don't interrupt, you know I hate it when you interrupt." He flushes and shuts his mouth, but he does notice that Hal slipped into "I" instead of "he". Makes sense, though. 

"Thanks. As I was saying, I'm supposed to keep you company from now on. Done. Questions?" Dave raises an eyebrow and nods, wondering if he can speak now without the android getting all pissy. He makes a magnanimous gesture, and if he'd had lips, Dave was pretty damn sure he'd be smirking like Bro, too. Already he's getting the familiar urge to strangle him, and this isn't even his brother. Not really. Right?

Right.

Taking a deep breath, Dave starts, "Okay, first off. Why the fuck would Bro need to make a robot- you, I mean- to keep me company? Sure, he does leave most of the night for gigs sometimes, but it's not like I can't hold down the fort by myself. I _don't_ need a babysitter." He snickers, and Dave blushes again, this time from agitation instead of embarassment. "I don't!" 

"I know you don't, kid. Thing is, I- or rather, Bro, well. He isn't gonna be home a lot of the time." The Brobot shrugs, and Dave's eyebrows furrow, a tiny frown tugging the corners of his lips downwards. 

"Why?"

"Well, shit. Ain't that a loaded question," he replies, flopping down on the couch, and Dave is once again acutely aware of how much he's like Bro. (He's not, he's not, he's _not,_ but he's so similar to him it almost hurts.) After a second of consideration, the robot sighs again and explains, "Due to circumstances outside of his control, long story short he had to get a job." For reasons Dave can easily deduce for himself. Oh. Huh. Knowing Bro, it's probably in customer service, too. The thought of Bro stuffed in a cubicle makes him want to laugh and cry at the same time. 

Dave echoes Hal's sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. Good god. This sucked ass, didn't it? Bro wouldn't be around anymore. Hal was..... not quite Bro. Almost, though, and it made it a little better. With another nod to himself, he sits down on the couch as well, near Hal but not close enough to touch. He can hear the thrumming of the machinery inside the robot, and it's pretty fascinating. 

He flips on the TV and browses through the chamnels and pay-per-view, finding nothing good and instead settling on some shitty reality TV show in an attempt to ignore the hum of Hal next to him. Once the episode is over, he switches to..... hm. Failure to Launch sounded appropriately crappy. Dave chooses it and watches intently, adding snarky commentary to the movie to make it more bearable. Hal joins in, too, and the bantering rhythm they fall into is comfortable. It's nice, he decides, about halfway through.

Somehow he ends up falling asleep, his head on Hal's steel shoulder, and sleeps peacefully, without dreaming.


End file.
